


the boy with two souls

by moonsandstar_s



Category: RWBY
Genre: No romance at all, if you don't ship anything you're good to read this and vice versa because there's no romance, there's really vague hints of ozqrow but.... not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:27:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s
Summary: When you cram two minds and Auras together, memories tend to bleed into one entity. When one mind is technically dead and murdered by a Maiden, things can get a little tense. Ozpin's memories terrify Oscar. Oscar's mind confines Ozpin.Together, they run into more than one kind of trouble on their trek to Haven Academy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TigerMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/gifts).



> Dedicated to Tigermoon, my partner in crime. I might even go so far as to say they love Oscar more than I do.

Oscar hops off the empty train and promptly lands in a puddle.

He looks down in disgust, now soaked to the ankle, mud sloshing around his rubber boots. The train screeches before whirring to a start and streaking off, sending more rain splashing out, and with a yelp, he hops away from the tracks, shivering. He is used to mud— farming, unfortunately, is full of it— but he’s never liked getting dirty. 

“It’s freezing out here,” he mutters, sloshing away from the tracks and looking around. “And there’s not a building in sight— Ozpin, am I in the right place?” 

_Indeed._

“Helpful,” he grumbles, storming off. At least it’s not raining, but if the dark, threatening clouds rolling in from the east are anything to go by, it will be soon. “So where do I go now?” 

_Continue walking onward. You should be hitting a river shortly. You should cross over the river and through the woods that bank the western side. I believe they’re abandoned._

“Seriously?” Oscar says. “Over the river and through the woods?” 

 _I don’t understand your confusion,_ Ozpin replies, sounding faintly bemused. _I confess, I believed the direction was simple enough, but if you require further explanation—_

“It’s— oh, never mind, it’s not important. What comes after that?” Shivering, Oscar clings his backpack closer, plodding on through the mug with his head lowered. 

_After you make your way through the forest, there will come a range of mountain peaks that encircle the forest— not massive mountains, but they are large enough nevertheless, and they might pose a significant obstacle. They are meant to keep out the Grimm, but unfortunately, they will attempt to do the same to you. Over these mountains, Haven Academy will be waiting for you; it was built to be sheltered in a valley, true to its name._

“Spare me the history lecture, please.” Oscar skirts around a tangle of barbed wire, and then he stares in shock as he sees the river. It’s a massive landmass— like a dull gray snake winding through the scrubby heather and gorse, churning with broken twigs and yellowish-white foam. The banks are eroded away, and even from where he is, he can hear the roaring of the roiling water. A forest banks the far side, bare-leaves branches stretching towards the sky. 

“You expect me to cross that?” Oscar says, dismayed. 

 _If you look hard enough, you will find what you seek,_ Ozpin says, before going silent. No amount of prodding will get him to speak again, and, surly, Oscar sloshes forward, holding his duffel with his precious contents close to him as he makes his way to the bank of the river. 

He begins to walk downriver, searching for a place where the current seems less treacherous, and the banks less crumbly and steep. After a long search— keeping his eyes nervously flitting back and forth from the approaching storm to the river— he finds a place where the bank slopes downward and enters the water at a gentle curve, and the river is— while not shallow— less tempestuous, less churning, but the surface froths with white-crests of foam.  

“I’ll cross here,” he says mutinously to Ozpin. “In case you were wondering.” 

Ozpin doesn’t reply, and Oscar scowls. _Gods-damned, interfering old headmaster._ He picks his way down the bank and eases one foot into the river, gasping at the shock of the cold before steeling himself and moving onward. 

The current begins to tug at him as he proceeds, and by the time he’s wading thigh-high in the river, it strengthens— and then, as if he is smaller than a twig— a wall of water bears down upon him and crashes into his body. 

He goes down, river water forcing its way past the seam of his mouth and gushing down his throat. He bobs to the surface, sputtering and coughing, before he feels his duffel ripped out of his hands and torn downriver. 

“No!” he yells, floundering after it, but it’s gone and out of sight before he can fight the current to snatch it back. “No,” he repeats in a hoarse whisper, feet lodged in the mud, his heart sinking in his chest. All his lien and food… gone. 

Fighting the current, miserable, cold, and wet, he looks up at the sky, covered in gray cloud cover. Ozpin is as silent as the stars, and Oscar pushes down a wet, ugly cough that forces its way out of his lungs as he sloshes through the last half of the river, and into the shallows. 

He trips and sprawls right as he’s climbing out of the river, a sudden surge of anger exploding inside of him as he lays there in the mud, like some pathetic invalid.

His expression looks back at him from the water, and it looks desperately young and afraid. His whole situation is so screwed-up; he’s out here, in the middle of nowhere, away from home. He has not a single cent of lien to his name, and his whole journey out here is botched, with only a voice in his head to show for it. He slashes at the surface of the sluggish river until it’s rippling and broken, his reflection distorted. Even the shattered surface of the water cannot hide his angry eyes and the shadows under them, like someone has taken the pad of their thumb and fanned charcoal there. He stops his frenzy, panting, a mixture of shame and fury battling within him. 

 _Oscar, that’s enough,_ Ozpin says finally. 

He is icy, and miserable, and absolutely exhausted, and Ozpin’s voice is the last thing he wants to hear. “Go away,” he snaps, leaning back on his heels. “Gods know that I have enough to deal with right now besides a lecture from you.” 

_You are angry. You have every right to be, but I can tell you with utmost certainty that rage never does any soul—_

“Shut up!” Oscar snarls, whirling around, his hands going to his head as if he could claw Ozpin out of it. “You have _no_ idea what this is like. None! I’m not some invincible warrior. I’m only a kid, and I’m out here because of you, and I have no gods-damned idea what I’m doing!” 

Ozpin almost sounds upset, and his next words are spoken tightly— they have the echo of memory, as if he’s spoken them to someone else before. _There is so much more at stake than just your personal welfare, and if I had even the slightest idea as to how you—_

The sound of howling wind shatters his skull and Ozpin’s voice is drowned out with a tidal wave of pain. Oscar cries out in shock, falling to his knees, and then the world around him abruptly bleaches to black, stars and blood-red flashes swimming in his vision. His sight is replaced by the image of a dark-haired man bleeding out on the ground, followed by a broken-winged bird plummeting from the sky as a storm rages around him, lightning turning the sky more brilliant than day—  

Oscar slams back into his own body, and he’s scared as an eerie silence rings in his ears, Ozpin’s presence faded back into the deep recesses of his mind, as if the old headmaster is terrified, crouching in the shadows. 

 _Ozpin?_ He thinks, numb and shaken. 

No answer. 

“Ozpin,” he repeats hoarsely, kneeling on the ground. “What— what in the _hell—”_

 _You weren’t supposed to see that._ Ozpin’s voice is whisper-soft and stricken. Oscar can imagine him, wide-eyed and holding the broken, bloody shards of the memory, his shoulders bowed. _I— I am sorry._

“What’s happening to me? What is all of this, what do you need me for?” His voice rises to a strangled cry. “Why can’t you just tell me _what the hell is going on?”_

 _I can’t tell you._ Ozpin’s voice wavers, teetering on the edge of indecision, and Oscar knows that whatever the memory they just shared was about, it has shaken him in a way nothing has managed to do before. _But I… I can show you. I can share a memory with you._

Oscar, still on his knees, dusts himself off and staggers to his feet, getting away from the riverbank and into the forest that banks it. _Is that safe?_

 _Nothing is ever really safe, and I cannot promise you that this memory will settle your mind about anything you are doing. Nor can I guarantee that it will warm you to the task you have ahead… or to my presence in your mind. But I do owe you some semblance of honesty, and you have demonstrated remarkable resilience thus far._ Ozpin lets out a long sigh, sounding very exhausted. _This is a not pleasant memory, but it will explain… much of what you do not understand. I will show it to you, but only with your consent._

Oscar leans his back against a tree, his heart pulsing so loudly he can almost hear it, before sliding down into the leaf-mold with a bump. 

_I— okay. Okay. You can show me._

Ozpin’s consciousness sighs against his, searching for a memory, before he finds it, pulling it to the forefront of both of their minds. Oscar’s eyes widen. Again, there is the sound of screeching wind and shattering glass, before a dark blackness blots out the sky and forest, sparkling with stars. A tide of flame washes over his eyes. Oscar struggles briefly, both his mind and Ozpin’s protesting against the unforgiving dark, before it overwhelms them both, claiming their consciousness and pulling them down into nothingness. 

_Fire._

_Fire sears his lungs, choking off his breath and making bile rise in his throat. He cries out, but it breaks off in a bout of coughing, and a pain so intense it feels like his bones are rending apart at the joints blazes through his body. He is blazing like a torch._

_And he is about to die._

_His eyes open to blackness, a single glow wavering within it, like a solitary ember. Blood is all over him, wetting his face, wounds slashed all over his body. His cane is gone. Thrown off into the darkness of the vault, perhaps, never to be recovered._

I failed, _he thinks, a spark of panic igniting his chest before it is extinguished, doused by his unbearable pain as he begins to cough once more._ The Tower shall fall, and the Maidens with it. Beacon Academy is no more. The relics lay scattered, and I shall…  

_“Salem did always say you were weak,” an amused voice floats out from the dark, taunting him. His attacker, the fire, the assailant. The hidden traitor, who he was blinded to, because her tactic harped right on the edges of all of his weakness._

_“Go back to her,” he rasps, his voice strangled and broken, thick and wet with blood. It is a mangled thing that sounds horrible to his ears. “Tell her you succeeded. Lie to Salem, and see the cost of what darkness can do, when deceived. She is no more forgiving than the fire of hell itself. You were tasked with extinguishing my soul and stealing the powers of Autumn, and I can tell you this with the utmost certainty: Salem is not fond of incomplete tasks. Someone shall rise to stop you. Perhaps not I, but these powers are not yours, and you will get your own comeuppance tonight. I promise you that.”_

_Before Cinder can lunge to make the killing blow, he severs himself from his own body, unspeakable agony roaring through him in a crackling blaze. He screams, having time for one final, tortured breath before he is ripped into the darkness of the void, sucked back and dragged downward—_

_— and then he slams into a new body, distended and pulled in all the wrong directions, and_ new. 

_The first thing he notices is that the pain is gone._

_His body is new, and it is not his own. He can feel another mind, settled against his. His mind wars against it before settling into its new skull, and he looks out from the boy’s eyes, seeing the white-capped peaks of Mistral’s mountains, a red-painted farm, and a blue sky._

Begin again, _he thinks, and he can feel the boy’s surprise._

Oscar comes back to reality with the rocketing sensation of shooting out of the darkness of an ocean breaking the surface and gasping in clean lungfuls of crystal, sharp air, sunlight sparkling in his vision as birdsong and whispering leaves and the sounds of the rushing river fill his ears. The world is still and at peace, terribly incongruous with how he feels, because on the inside, he is shattering. He lays there, still trembling with the memory of fire and blood and furious amber eyes. 

“She killed you,” Oscar whispers, his voice uneven in the silence. 

 _Almost, but not quite. She killed my physical form. Burned it down to ashes, I would expect… the fires of fall are not as forgiving as you might think._ Ozpin laughs, but it’s bitter and holds no humor. It sounds like the crackling static of his auntie’s old television set, brushing against his mind. _But as you can see, doing what she did nearly enough to extinguish my light. I was hardly able to stay alive in any physicality, and only by latching my spirit onto yours and merging our Auras, was I able to remain on earth. Without it, I would be gone._

“Gone… gone where?” 

 _Beyond,_ Ozpin says simply. 

“But you…” Oscar shakes his head, bemused. “I can’t imagine that you were a weak fighter, or anything. How was she able to… defeat you like that?” 

A long pause. Ozpin seemed to be thinking, Oscar thought, weighing his words carefully before speaking them. _It is complicated,_ he said at last, _but no man is invincible. My semblance was— is— powerful, Oscar. You know the nature of semblances, I trust?_

“Yeah, I think so. I’m no Hunter, but they teach us that in regular school… everyone on Remnant is born with a semblance, but not a lot of people discover what theirs is. It’s a hard process, from what I’ve heard. Usually only Hunters can use them to any sort of extent… and it’s like a superpower, right? One superpower per person.” 

Ozpin sounds slightly amused. _Not a superpower, truly, but I suppose that is as good a description as any, Oscar. Yes, you’re correct. Every soul has a semblance. Not all of them are good— some can be terrible things to bear._

“Not all semblances are _good?”_ He asks, baffled. “How is that even possible?” 

Ozpin sounds old, and sad. _I knew a man, back when I was alive, whose semblance was to bring misfortune and strife to everyone within his presence. It could be a misfortune as small as a broken glass, or it could be as terrible as bringing down death upon a woman he cared for. It soured much of the bright spirit he held, and it distanced him from everyone whom he loved. He felt as though it was his duty to isolate himself, out of the fear that he would only end up hurting those he loved. I tried to tell him, multiple times, that those who loved would not care— they would willingly shoulder that burden, as did I. But in the end, it did not matter. He is changed, because he believes I am dead, and he will only continue his self-imposed exile. Semblances can be as much of a burden as they are a gift._

Oscar, sensing his distraction, pounces on the opportunity to surprise more information out of him. “Was this guy with the bad semblance the man in the memory that you accidentally let slip earlier?” 

Ozpin recoils, his mind shrinking away from Oscar’s. _How on earth did you—?_

“Lucky guess.” Oscar feels pleased. “So what was _your_ semblance, if you were able to be taken down in the way you were?” 

 _A unique one, and terrible, at that,_ Ozpin murmurs. _I was able to control the turn of time and even the very balance of the smallest things in the universe— the atoms of time, you might say. Its tides, its ebb and flow. To turn back the clock. This allowed me to create defenses for myself, to look back in the past, to control so much… to dodge strikes and confuse the enemy, to turn her on herself. But in the end, no man is able to contain such a power, and it ended up destroying me. It was not enough to withstand the onslaught of a season, bent on destruction._

 _“_ And you died.” 

_Yes. That is correct._

“So you merged your Aura with mine to stay alive.” A note of anger heats his voice. “You tethered yourself to me without even asking. You combined _your soul with mine._ This isn’t something you can just undo, I know it’s not. Auras aren’t something you mess around with.” 

_I did. Without your consent, your permission, and I am sorry, Oscar. I am sorry it has to be this way. It was selfish, and I was scared. I was terrified when I did it… and I was a fool, ultimately. I— I am not one for grand gestures of apology, but believe me when I say that I regret what I did to you._

Oscar sits there, considering it. He knows Ozpin means it. He can feel it, a quiet regret and sorrow, burning like an ember in his mind. He supposes there’s not a lot of things a man who has taken whatever means possible to stay alive can be regretful for. 

“It’s not okay, really,” he tells Ozpin, “but there’s nothing that we can do about it now. So I’ll help you. Not because I owe you anything,” he adds firmly, “but because I know that if I stand back instead of helping, and Remnant falls, it’ll be my fault, in a way. My _tía_ taught me that we’ve all got duty, as humans. I guess this is mine.” 

 _That is a noble sentiment, Oscar, and I thank you for it. I chose you without asking, but if I did not have your permission, I would not force you into anything,_ he says, and there is a touch of sorrow to his voice. _There was a girl who died— a girl who I asked to choose, between her life and her duty. She was one of my students. She didn’t die because of me— she died_ after _me, as a matter of fact— but Cinder killed her as well. You must know what you are getting into. I cannot guarantee your safety. I cannot guarantee your wellbeing. And most of all, I cannot guarantee you a happy ending. But I_ can _promise that I will do everything within my power to keep you safe, and to keep you from being harmed in the way that I was. I can swear that I will not leave you lonely and scared as I was, and that I will work with you, rather than against you. For better or for worse, we are a team now._

“A team,” Oscar says. “Like the teams at your school, right?” 

Ozpin sounds surprised, and then gratified. _Exactly like that, Oscar._

“Well,” Oscar says, “we’ve got a world to save, don’t we? We’d better be on our way.” 

Oscar rises to his feet, shouldering his backpack and emerging from the woods into the dawning night. 

 _Head for the spires you see in the distance. The way over the mountain will be treacherous, but there is a pass we should find that will lessen the peril, and you may even find shelter there to camp for the night._ Ozpin’s voice pauses. _Oscar…_

“Yeah?” 

_I… thank you, Oscar._

Oscar can’t help but smile a little bit, feeling his dread melt away. Whatever is waiting for him might be terrible and full of pain and fear— but he is _out_ here, isn’t he? Even with the memories in his mind that are not his, and a voice that has a mind of its own and an entire life it’s left behind, Oscar knows, now, that there is so much more waiting for him out there than just being a nobody, a farmhand in the outskirts of Mistral. “I’m happy to be out here.” 

They head off into the gathering dusk, towards the far-distant shadow of Haven Academy that sends its spires stabbing into the sky. To any other person, it would look like a scrawny boy with eyes too big for his head and tangled dark hair, talking excitedly to himself as the moon begins to rise in the sky. To those who knew better, it was a boy leaving behind his fears to confront his destiny, guided by one who had once been in his place. 

 


End file.
